


Secret Admirers

by raisedtokeepquiet



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, again discussions at kitchen tables, again unknown identities, also again letters, i guess, idiots again, why do i keep coming back to that always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16499642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedtokeepquiet/pseuds/raisedtokeepquiet
Summary: Ermal has discovered this artist, this singer with perfect songs, great music and amazing lyrics. So he sends this singer a letter, just to tell him how much he likes it. Years pass and paper turns to digital messages. Innocent comments turn... not so innocent, and Ermal realizes that he's dug an amazingly deep hole for himself, and he's about to get buried alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sociallyawkwardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociallyawkwardwriter/gifts).



> Sociallyawkwardwriter sent me the following prompt:  
> Please, please, could you write something with Ermal as Fabri's secret admirer (or the other way around, I'm not picky)???
> 
> And here is the result :)   
> I hope it's a bit like what you hoped it would be, and enjoy reading :)

Ermal was living his dream. How could he not? Working together with Fabrizio Moro as he did, and not only that, but being  _ friends _ with Fabrizio Moro as he was. He had never expected this to happen, of course he hadn’t. But if he’d known, there were some things in his life he’d do differently.

One of those things, in fact the first thing he would change if he could, was not having send that first letter. Or any of the subsequent ones, but that first letter had been a changing point. Of course, through the years and through technological advances (though it was doubtful Fabrizio himself was keeping up) the letters on paper had changed to digital messages, but the effect was the same.

It had all started out so innocent, so small. Ermal had been playing that song, the obvious one, Pensa, on repeat for days, weeks. Sometimes he wished he would have been a bit more original, not becoming a fan of this singer when so many others had, but then, better late than never, right? 

He played the song, so many, many times. Sometimes just in the background of whatever he was doing, when he didn’t really pay attention to it, it just framed his tasks. Sometimes he played it and listened to it, really  _ listened _ to it. He would sit there in his room, just listening. The music. The lyrics. The images it called up, the hope, the questions, the anger. 

And once, he had sighed, after the song finished, and muttered without even realizing it, “I wish I could tell Fabrizio what this song does to me.” 

“Why don’t you?” came the answer from a friend he’d lost touch with some time later. Ermal had only stared at him, confused, because how would he do that?

“He surely has some way to contact him? A mail address, management, something. Just tell him whatever you have on your mind, and we maybe can get some peace when you’ll listen to something else again.” 

Ermal had scoffed at that, not taking it seriously with the remark that followed, and put it out of his mind. Put it out of his mind, until about one year later, he was one evening mindlessly watching television. Festival Sanremo. The involuntary thoughts in his head, the dreams that he did not dare to speak aloud, not wanting to acknowledge to possibility and the total impossibility of doing the same, were suddenly interrupted.

Interrupted, because this singer was back. Another song, so different, so much calmer, so much more personal, no message to unite a country, but no less beautiful. And while it captured Ermal’s attention, it did something else as well.

It reminded him that artists usually have more than one song. Why had he never looked into this artist? He had loved Pensa so much, why hadn’t it occurred to him that maybe there was more where that came from? He was sure there would be more where that came from, because the evidence was now right in front of him. 

So that weekend, Ermal went out to the music store, and bought an album. “The latest one” he’d asked, and the boy at the counter had smirked at him. “There’s one of a year old, guess you want that one then.” 

Ermal tried to ignore him, tried to ignore that smirk that rubbed him in all the wrong ways. He hadn’t come here to make friends, he had come here for more music by Fabrizio Moro, and if that was an album of a year old, then that was a great place to start. He paid, and took it home, and locked himself in his flat, and played it.

It was the Pensa album, and while that particular song felt familiar and comforting like a warm bath, the other songs were astonishing in their own right. He listened to them, uncovering the layers of music, the layers of meaning in the lyrics, and he loved them. They were amazing, Fabrizio was amazing for making this, and Ermal couldn’t understand how he wasn’t more popular than he was. This was everything an artist needed, and Ermal was so glad he had rediscovered him. Fabrizio was an example to look up to.

And now he kept tabs on the singer, an effort which was soon payed off as another album was released. Ermal bought it, listened to it, and listened to it again. Like with the previous album, the songs did something to him, and suddenly he was reminded of that comment of his friend, to send a letter. And he thought, why not? What was there to lose? Wouldn’t it be amazing if he could let this artist know how special he was?

That first letter had been innocent, yes. Just a way to tell Fabrizio how much he liked the songs, the music, the lyrics. A way to tell him how they made him feel. All those things he just wished Fabrizio would know. That first letter had been signed with his name, as had the second and the third… But then he’d changed to using social media, because it seemed an easier way of communicating, a more direct way. At the same time, because it was so much more direct, Ermal chickened out of using his name.

He had good reasons for that, if he said so himself. His band was doing well, and his name was not that common after all. Better be safe than sorry. Not that he had anything to be sorry for, he was just leaving nice comments, the ones he would not mind getting himself. But still. He just signed the posts with an ‘E’ and left it at that. 

One day, he caught the holy grail. Always he had only just commented on pictures, commented on statuses. He knew he would be indistinguishable from the masses of fans that did the same, there was nothing to set him apart from them at all. So Ermal had never expected to one day have his phone signal a new private message. From Fabrizio. Thanking him for all his nice comments. Ermal stared at his phone for a while, not really believing that he had a reply, a real answer, a real connection. It was with shaking fingers that he replied a few hours later, and from then on he would occasionally share his thoughts on music or a performance or a concert directly in the thread of messages.

Then he had met Fabrizio, really met him, as equals, one artist to another. He came to know Fabrizio, and Ermal realized two things. First, there was much more to admire in Fabrizio than just his songs and lyrics and guitar playing. And second, he could not stop now with the comments and messages, it would be too obvious, right? So he continued them, sharing his compliments and thoughts whenever he had something worthwhile to share. He just had to be careful not to use the exact same words he would in real life, and it would all be fine.

And while it had started out innocent, it did not continue like that. Of course, Ermal wouldn’t do anything that made Fabrizio uncomfortable, and he was  _ careful _ , but he had to admit that it was impossible to not use that anonymity he had. He could comment on the pictures, hint at what they did to him, he could talk about interviews that were released and how Fabrizio looked and sounded… He had to admit that it was a nice way to say to Fabrizio all those things he thought and felt, but that he could never say out loud, not without ruining their relationship completely.

Of course, Ermal had quickly realized this might have been a bad idea, it had crossed his mind a few times, but he had dismissed it each time, preferring to ignore it and just go on as he was, keeping his… crush, a crush was just what it was now, under control by having that emotional outlet. It became clear, though, how bad it exactly was, when he was sitting with Fabrizio on some couch in a dressing room at some summer festival or another. These rooms and couches started to blur together a bit. (Strange how the only thing that didn’t blur together at all were the performances, he could recall everyone clear as day, knew every little thing Fabrizio did, had catalogued every hug at the end of their performance…)

“You’re always on social media,” Fabrizio complained, as he watched Ermal swipe through his twitter feed.

“Not true, not always,” Ermal retorted, out of habit, though he did put his phone away. He threw a sideways glance at the man next to him, only to see him toying with his own phone.

“Now listen to yourself! Don’t complain about me if you’re just as bad!” He had meant it as a joke, but Fabrizio didn’t laugh.

“You surely get a lot of people sending you messages, right? Fans and so on?”

Ermal felt his heart stop and drop down through his body. Had Fabrizio figured out that he was sending him all those messages? No, right? How could he? There was  _ nothing _ that could link him to Ermal, he was sure of that. Or, had been, because right now all he felt was doubts.

“Yes,” he said noncommittally, scrambling to find something else to say, something that would seem normal, something he would say if he didn’t have this secret to keep. Scrambling, and failing. Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter, because Fabrizio already continued.

“Do you… notice anyone? The same people who always comment or send you a message?”

“Yes, that happens sometimes,” Ermal said, and despite the situation, he couldn’t help but see some messages from his inbox flash in front of his eyes. Some people really were shameless. Was it something like that that was bothering Fabrizio now? Something protective inside Ermal awakened at that thought. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong! It’s just… I’ve been talking to this one person, just a little, replying to some of their messages, and they seem really nice. But I was just… wondering, is it okay? Can I do this? Or shouldn’t I?”

Ermal took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and just answer Fabrizio’s questions. It was endearing, in a way, to see this forty-something year old man worried about the dangers of online communication.

“It depends on what you’re saying, I guess, you both. I guess you should keep it professional, but it’s up to you really. Just remember that it’s the internet, so nothing will ever disappear, and can be spread easily. You’re smart enough to not do anything stupid, and in itself there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Fabrizio was quiet for a little while, lost in thoughts. Then he unlocked his phone and slid it over to Ermal.

“Please just have a look? I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

Ermal hoped Fabrizio wouldn’t notice how much his hands trembled when he took the phone, when he read that familiar username, when he read those familiar comments. What had he gotten himself into? The only thing that made it look different, but somehow so much more real, was that his messages had switched place and colour on the screen. 

“This seems all okay, what is it that you’re worried about?” he managed to choke out, hopefully convincingly, pretending to read the messages, but not seeing a single word.

“I don’t know exactly… I don’t want to cross any lines or something.”

Ermal closed his eyes at that, handing the phone back to Fabrizio. The only person crossing any lines here was he, and he knew it. And wasn’t this the perfect moment to say that it was him who was sending those messages? It would be awkward yes, but surely they would have a laugh about it, and then everything would be solved.

Bravely, he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a single word, they were interrupted and told it would be their turn on stage soon. The moment passed and disappeared, together with Ermal’s courage. He had to let it go, but he realized that Fabrizio was invested in this, and he would be hurt if his online friend (friend?) would suddenly disappear.

There was nothing to do but continue the conversation. That evening, Ermal typed with a heavy heart a message commenting on Fabrizio’s performance at the festival. He meant every word he said, but only now he realized that he was not just one of the masses. But he could not pretend anything had changed, it would be too obvious, and it would hurt Fabrizio. But only now he realized that Fabrizio would probably be hurt no matter what. How had he let this happen?

And so it continued, the messages. Ermal had a few subtle attempts to stop it, but it didn’t work. Apparently, Fabrizio had made his decision, and now he initiated conversations as well. Part of Ermal loved it, even though he knew it was a bad idea. How could he refuse when Fabrizio asked him about his opinion so sweetly, so curious about the answers?

Occasionally, Fabrizio brought it up when he was talking to Ermal. Each time, he died a little, had Fabrizio figured it out? Had his answers been too close to what Ermal had told Fabrizio already? Each time, though he breathed in relief when all Fabrizio did was share another opinion, another anecdote, clearly happy about this person that appreciated him so much. And Ermal knew it was stupid, it would make everything so much more complicated, make the inevitable fall out so much worse, but he wanted to see and figure out how much more  _ honest _ he could be, how much would Fabrizio accept?

He knew he was digging his own grave with this, had been for a while, and it was surely deep enough now, more than deep enough, and yes, one day, as they were lounging in Fabrizio’s back yard, this exact decision came back to haunt him.

“I got another message from that mysterious person I have been telling you about!” Fabrizio said excitedly, looking at his phone, as Ermal tried to suppress a groan. He knew that, he had sent it last night when he had finally time to look (stare) at that picture Fabrizio had posted earlier that day. 

“What did they say now?” Ermal dared a look up, pretending to be interested and clueless about the message. He looked up and saw that Fabrizio blushed. He honest to god  _ blushed _ .

“Oh, nothing, really, they liked the performance, and my outfit.”

Ermal had to smile at that. That was a nice paraphrase of “That shirt looks good on you, but it would be better if you took it of” and some emojis even Fabrizio wouldn’t fail to interpret correctly. And it seemed he didn’t mind. Interesting.

“So,” Ermal started, carefully, “What do you know about them? Their name? Age? Is it a woman?”

He heard Fabrizio take a deep breath, putting the phone away and staring at the fence on the other edge of the garden. Ermal tried to be patient, not to push this, not to show how interested he was in the answers Fabrizio would give. Who did he think this secret admirer was, this secret admirer that was admiring a lot more than just Fabrizio’s music.

“I don’t know anything, really…” came finally Fabrizio’s reply.

“But?” Ermal asked breathlessly, that had really sounded like there was a  _ but _ to follow.

“I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just feel like… I know them? You know, even though I don’t, at all, and that’s probably a bit dangerous, because they certainly know who I am.”

“Surely, they don’t know  _ you _ , right? Only you as the singer. So that’s not that different, in a way.”

At that, Fabrizio shook his head. “No, no, well, yes, you’re probably right, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like they know me better, know me personally.”

Ermal had been enjoying this conversation, figuring out what Fabrizio was thinking about his online alter ego, but this stopped his heart. This did not sound good, if Fabrizio suspected that it was someone close to him, the link to Ermal would be easy to make, right?

“Know you personally? Like a friend or so?” Ermal said, finally, after what he hoped was still an acceptable pause.

“No, not a friend, not someone that close. It’s too serious, too honest to be just a prank like that…”

Ermal tried to keep a straight face while his heart tried at once to self-destruct at the notion that Fabrizio did not believe anyone close to him could feel like that about him, and to flutter in joy and relief that his secret was still exactly that, a secret.

“Maybe someone I have once worked with, some musician, someone backstage, there are so many people who it could be… I guess I’ll never know. Pity.”

After that, the conversation shifted, but it was obvious that the topic had not left Fabrizio’s mind. Because in the messages, he kept asking for more information. At first subtly, jokingly, easily deflected, especially by Ermal’s skilful fingers flying over the keyboard, but it became more insistent. More insistent, but Ermal still managed to change the subject, a bit rudely so, but he managed. At least, until one day the dreaded message appeared that Fabrizio wanted answers, now, or he would stop this, it had gone on for long enough.

Ermal couldn’t give those answers, of course he couldn’t, but it wasn’t a bad thing, wasn’t this the perfect way out of this whole mess? He would just say nothing, stop replying, give no answers whatsoever, and Fabrizio would move on, and he would move on, and find another, healthier way to deal with his crush, because that had not diminished one single bit in all this time.

That was the plan in theory. A good plan, if Ermal said so. A good plan, he thought, kept thinking, happy with the solution, happy with how easy this all had been. Yes, a good plan. At least, that was what he was thinking until he saw Fabrizio again. They had not seen each other for some weeks, each busy with their own tour, the summer of festival after festival as good as over, but this evening had brought them together in Ermal’s flat in Milan. Fabrizio would stay the night before his flight to Rome left the next day. 

Seeing Fabrizio again, sitting with him on the couch, neither of them really watching the television with it’s flashing colours, Ermal found out that the plan had not been so very good after all. Because he noticed that Fabrizio was sighing a lot. 

“Bizio, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” was all the answer he got, though it was followed not five seconds later by another deep sigh.

“It doesn’t seem nothing. Wanna talk about it?”

“No, it’s stupid.”

Why did Fabrizio sound so sad? Ermal turned off the TV and turned to face Fabrizio.

“I’m sure it’s not, come on, tell me, you’ll feel better.”

And yes, he thought afterwards, Fabrizio probably felt a bit better after sharing what kept him occupied, but Ermal felt so much worse.

“You know the person messaging me?”

At that, Ermal felt a disturbing feeling settle in his stomach, a feeling that suggested he would not like what was to follow, not at all. All he could do, however, was nod, and try to make it encouraging.

“So I asked them for more information about themselves, a name, an age, a picture, anything, I would have been happy with anything.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. They gave me  _ nothing _ . So I said I would stop messaging them, and they did too, and… Yeah, that’s basically it. I told you it was stupid.”

Ermal swallowed heavily. Easy solution, clearly not, if it made Fabrizio feel so bad.

“If it makes you feel like this, it’s not stupid. Why -” he faltered, not sure exactly what question he wanted answered. Fabrizio filled it in anyway.

“Why is it then so important to me? I don’t know. Ermal, I knew when it started that it was online, nothing serious, that I knew nothing about them. It started out just with the nice messages and the interesting opinions, I told you about those.”

“Was - Was there more?” Ermal asked, hesitatingly, he  _ knew _ there was more, but he wasn’t supposed to know, so now he had to listen to Fabrizio tell him about it.

“Yeah, there were not just compliments about the music… There were also compliments about  _ me _ .” Fabrizio started blushing again at that. All the things he’d said flashed through Ermal’s mind, and part of him couldn’t help but wonder which of those things led to that sweet pink on Fabrizio’s cheeks.

“Compliments and straight up  _ flirting _ . And I liked it. Even though I had no idea what was going on, it was  _ nice _ .”

“So you’re sad that it apparently didn’t mean anything?”

Fabrizio sighed and let his head fall back on the back rest of the couch.

“Yes, partly that. But also, I’m a bit upset, disappointed in myself, for placing so much importance on this, I should have known it was nothing, just someone having fun, a fan maybe, or who knows, a journalist. And exactly that is where the problem is… I was so ready to give more of myself, more information, not just a professional relationship. And I’m scared what could have happened if I did, if they did give me some information, I would just have accepted it, I would not have questioned it. There is so much I could have compromised, just for a little bit of attention…”

Ermal closed his eyes. This was all his fault, all these needless worries, all these doubts, he had caused all this, and Fabrizio deserved nothing of it. He should tell him now, it was the perfect moment - he should speak now, open his mouth, tell Fabrizio that it had all been him, no matter the consequences, this was bigger than him and his stupid fears now. And he opened his mouth, but no sounds came out.

“You don’t have to tell me how stupid I was, I know it myself. So well. Every week I see these messages warning parents to check what their children are up to online, the internet is a scary place, school sends out these information leaflets, but I know not even Anita would have been stupid enough to risk so much. Maybe it’s a good idea to just delete all my social media…”

That shook Ermal from his trance and the thoughts running in circles in his head.

“No!”

Fabrizio looked at him confusedly.

“I mean, no, you shouldn’t delete your profiles. Listen, you have learned from this, right? And nothing happened, there’s no pictures out there, no videos, no scandalous information, nothing. Come on, Fabri, it will be okay!”

That earned him a grateful smile and a head resting on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Ermal, you’re right. At least I have a true friend in you.”

Ermal’s hand ruffled through Fabrizio’s hair, while his heart broke into a million pieces.

That night, Ermal didn’t sleep, tossing and turning in his bed, but at least Fabrizio told him at breakfast that he had had a restful night, one of the first in some time. For once, Ermal was glad that Fabrizio’s plane left early, because that gave him the chance to collapse back into bed and think about everything.

As it was, he had several options. 

He could let it be the way it was, Fabrizio at peace with all that had happened, the messages forgotten, the account closed, and his own heart and mind blown to pieces. He could leave it like this.

Or he could do a selfish thing. Maybe it would make him feel better. It probably wouldn’t, but the chance was a tiny bit higher than with doing nothing. And hadn’t this whole thing been selfish from the start? Because he wasn’t brave enough to tell Fabrizio his opinions, his feelings, because he hadn’t dared to say it was him behind all the messages when he still had the chance, when things wouldn’t spin so far out of control… Then he had also taken the selfish, easy road, so why not take that one step further?

Why not open the account again. Send a message. Tell Fabrizio everything he had been, still was, too scared to say to his face? Now would be a good time, the summer over, no joint performances scheduled for a long time, and nothing that could not be canceled or rescheduled after that. If he was going to implode their friendship, their collaboration, he should do it now.

But it would hurt Fabrizio, no doubt it would hurt him. He would lose a friend, and could Ermal really let that happen? On the other hand, hadn’t Fabrizio already lost a friend, only he didn’t know it? Because Ermal did not feel like his friend right now. He had betrayed his trust, made him feel awful, and then betrayed his trust again by not telling him when he had another chance to do so… Was it better to hurt someone and let them know so they could deal with it, or to never say anything and let it fester between them?

Ermal checked the time, Fabrizio’s flight was leaving in about fifteen minutes. If he got his mind together and could type out a decent explanation, he could text Fabrizio a short apology as himself, and he’d get both the apology and the explanation at the same time when he landed again. That would also give Ermal enough time to turn off his phone, his laptop, and hide in his room with enough sad songs alcohol to make it through the rest of the day and night, and hopefully after that he would collapse from exhaustion for a bit longer. Forget he existed, forgot he had caused this whole stupid mess in the first place. 

He grabbed his phone, opened the app, and started typing the message. He had a vague idea of what he wanted to say, but it still took longer than he imagined. He didn’t read it again, he just sent it, and then closed the app to open up another.

_ Fabrizio, I am so sorry for what I did. I hope that one day you might be able to forgive me, though I know I don’t deserve it. Love, Ermal _

Then he carried out the rest of his plan. Put his laptop and phone in the kitchen, exchanged them for two bottles of wine and an extra blanket, closed the curtains in his bedroom and crawled back under the covers, ready to forget the world existed.


	2. Chapter 2

The plane had landed in Rome about fifteen minutes ago, and Fabrizio had made his way to the arrivals hall. He decided to grab some coffee before he would make his way home. At his small table, with the cup of certainly overpriced what was only possibly coffee in front of him, he turned on his phone again, seeing the notifications drop in. 

A text from Ermal. What could he have to say when he’d just seen him? Fabrizio opened the message, and just stared at the screen, coffee now forgotten. This was enough to shake him awake from deep sleep. What had Ermal done? What would he not forgive? The  _ love _ was new too, but it didn’t give the happy, fluttering feeling in his stomach he would have gotten in any other case. He was too worried for that. What was going on? This sounded so… definitive, like a goodbye? What the fuck was going on? What the fuck was Ermal doing? What the fuck had he  _ done _ ?

Fabrizio tried to call him, but the phone wasn’t answered. He dialled again, already making his way through the airport to the customer’s desk. He had to get back to Milan, and he had to get there now.

The helpful lady at the service desk seemed to sense his urgency, she didn’t ask too many questions, just put him on the next flight back to Milan, which would leave in three hours.

Three hours.

Three hours of waiting, anxiously waiting, imagining scenario after scenario, wondering what Ermal could have meant with that vague message. Fabrizio sat at the gate, his leg bouncing up and down, the seats next to him empty as no one wanted to share that nervous, dooming energy that radiated off of him.

Two hours.

One hour gone, the same scenarios, the same worries, the same fears. Fabrizio had gotten up, pacing through the hall, making his way around families on holidays, businessmen, couples in love...

One hour.

Time crept by so slowly. He just needed something to do. Sat down again. Took his phone out again, dialed again that number, again got nothing. He checked the other notifications he’d gotten. Nothing from Ermal, so everything was unimportant. What did he care about the bits of life other people chose to share on social media? Only one person counted right now, and he was silent.

Except - Maybe there was one other person. Fabrizio stared at the notification telling him he had another message. His secret admirer. The preview showed him very little, it started with ‘Dear Fabrizio’, but that already made some alarm bells go off in the back of his mind. None of the messages had ever started like that. Why like this, why now? A suspicion started itching in the back of his mind. With shaking fingers he tapped the notification and waited until the app opened up.

 

_ Dear Fabrizio, _

_ I can give you the answers to the questions you asked. I will give them to you, but you have to promise me one thing. Read this whole message, please. _

_ Really, there is just one question I need to answer out of the ones you asked. My name is Ermal Meta. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ I know that now you have other questions too, and I will try to give some answers to those. _

_ Most importantly, it was not a prank, nothing of it. I meant everything I said. But let me go back a little first. I did not start with the messages here to you. I started writing to you earlier, a lot earlier, and I started with letters on paper, back in 2008. I sent a couple, signed them with my name and all. Then I moved to social media, anonymously, and I think it took some time for you to notice me. _

_ When I met you, I should have stopped it, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. And then, when we became friends, it also became clear how much the messages meant to you. I should have told you then, I know I should. _

_ And then, as time went on, it became the perfect place to tell you all the things I could never tell you in person. I meant everything I wrote to you. Nothing was ever a lie. I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But after our talk yesterday, I realized I had already ruined everything. _

_ So I’m telling you now, I know it’s too late, but you deserve to know. I’m sorry. _

_ \- Ermal _

 

Fabrizio stared at the screen, not reading the letters anymore, trying to figure out what this all  _ meant _ . He hadn’t figured it out yet when the screen went black, but at least the first implications started hitting home.

All this time, it had been Ermal, Ermal with the interesting opinions, all the compliments,  _ the flirting _ ? Fabrizio was ready to dismiss it all, pretend it was nothing more than a joke to show him how bad he was at technology, but he also knew it wasn’t. Not only did Ermal say that, emphasize that, he also knew this had started before he even knew Ermal. So it was real, it had to be real.

Where did that leave them? He had been telling the truth, he had liked those messages, how they started out so sweet, but moved on to something else, and he hadn’t minded it. And Ermal telling him those things? He did not mind that either. Of course he didn’t, not when in some moments late at night he had allowed himself to imagine Ermal  _ was _ the one telling him those things, not some anonymous figure on a social media app.

But Ermal had kept it from him, pretended he had no idea what was going on when Fabrizio came to him for advice… Where did  _ that _ leave them?

He got shaken from his thoughts by someone touching his shoulder. It took some time for him to get back to the present, but then he realized it was the lady from the service desk.

“Sir, your flight is leaving soon, do you still want to be on it?”

The airport. The flight. Back to Milan. Back to Ermal. Did he still want that?

“I don’t know…” he muttered.

“Yes or no, sir, the plane is scheduled for departure in fifteen minutes and you have to board now.” The smile on her face was still friendly, but her tone of voice betrayed how annoyed she was.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be on it.”

He’d figure out what he was going to do in Milan. At least it gave him another hour to think about this all.

Having landed in Milan again, he took the now familiar road back to the city, the cab dropping him off at Ermal’s flat. Fabrizio rang the doorbell, one time, two times, waiting impatiently for Ermal to appear.

When he did, Fabrizio only had to take one look at him before muttering, “God, you’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question, of course it wasn’t, Fabrizio had seen Ermal tipsy before, yes, drunk, hardly ever, but now he definitely was. Well, that made the decision of any serious talks for him, they would not have them now. Fabrizio walked in, taking the bottle from Ermal’s hands and pouring it down the sink, it was almost empty anyway. He then handed Ermal a glass of water instead, before turning away again to face the kitchen wall and lean on the counter.

What the fuck was he going to do?

He could not leave Ermal like this, right now he needed someone to look after him. So that was what Fabrizio did. He put Ermal in his bed, made sure he was on his side, more water and some pain killers on the nightstand. He also took away the second bottle of wine that he found lying between the covers, and took it downstairs. He could use a glass of that. Though unlike Ermal, he would take only one, and not the whole bottle.

Fabrizio collapsed on the couch, that same couch of last night, and sank his head in his hands.

What a mess.

He couldn’t decide on his own what they were going to do, but Ermal was in no state right now to discuss anything. So all he could do was wait. Wait until Ermal sobered up, wait until they could figure out how to move on from this strange limbo. First he made two phone calls, one to cancel a meeting he’d scheduled for the next day, and one to order some food. The evening passed, Fabrizio occasionally checking in on Ermal, mindlessly watching television, waiting until he was tired enough to go to bed. At least the guest bed was still as he left it earlier that day.

The next morning, Fabrizio woke early. There was no sweet moment in which everything seemed okay, as soon as he opened his eyes and the fact that he was awake had registered, he remembered the situation. A quick look into Ermal’s room told him that he was still asleep, and Fabrizio made his way to the kitchen to look for some coffee and some breakfast. After that, he was back to waiting, waiting for Ermal to wake up and make an appearance. 

It took some time, but finally, he heard him stumble down the hallway.

“Ermal. How are you feeling?” 

A grimace was a telling answer.

“Fabri, why are you here?” Ermal mumbled, not meeting his eyes, as he sat down at the table.

“I got your text. You worried me, so I came to see how you were doing.” 

At that, finally Ermal looked up.

“Did you… Did you just get my text?” 

“I also got your message,” Fabrizio said softy, wondering how to go from here. Ermal seemed to wonder the same thing, he just stared at Fabrizio, silent, frozen, still.

“I’m sorry,”  he whispered, finally.

At that, Fabrizio could only sigh. “I know that.” 

They sat there in silence a bit more, each lost in their own dark thoughts. Ermal was sure that Fabrizio would leave any second now, now that he had made it through the night. There was no reason to be here any longer.

Fabrizio, in turn, was still lost in the dilemma he had been facing since yesterday. What to do? Could they solve this? It was up to him, wasn’t it? Ermal only seemed defeated, convinced he had ruined everything.

Had he?

What he’d done… It was not okay, he’d kept things from Fabrizio, important things… But somehow, Fabrizio could understand why. They’d just gotten caught up in it, both of them, and in Ermal’s case it had been a way to deal with the… feelings and thoughts he apparently had for Fabrizio.  _ That _ part was understandable. Because didn’t Fabrizio have a stack of half finished songs that he would never release, a stack of songs about Ermal? He too, had found a way to deal with those things he didn’t dare say out loud to Ermal. The only difference was that Ermal had in fact told them to him, just hiding behind a screen offering anonymity. And now the anonymity was gone, and his secret was out in the open.

Was that such a bad thing? Yes, Ermal had not told Fabrizio about this when he could, when he should, and now it had all spiralled out of his control, but at least he still told him in the end, right? He should have done it earlier, but better late than never. For a second, Fabrizio imagined how it might be if Ermal never told him. He would have been left wondering who this mysterious person was and why it had ended the way it had, doubting his decisions, second guessing everything. Meanwhile something would no doubt also have changed between him and Ermal, and also there he would be left wondering  _ what _ .

And Fabrizio could understand how difficult it had been, admitting this, especially later, when the messages had turned into more than just artistic appreciation… He himself also hadn’t told Ermal about how  _ he _ felt, and maybe that was a small part of the problem.

“Ermal? You said you meant everything, but… can you tell me what that means exactly?” He tried to keep his tone soft and light, Ermal looked and probably felt already terrible enough.

Ermal took a deep breath to steady himself, and then looked up. With surprising strength he started speaking. Surprising, but easy to explain, because at least he had done nothing wrong here, he could not help his feelings, they had happened, and well, it was Fabrizio, he could give no other explanation. He had fucked up a lot of other things, but at least in this he knew he had done nothing wrong.

“It means that… I like your music, I like your lyrics, I like the way you are on stage. I like the way you look, god, you look amazing. I like the way you think, the way you talk, explain your opinions. I like  _ you _ . Every little bit of you.” 

Their eyes locked now, and Ermal looked surprisingly composed after that speech. Not so much Fabrizio, he felt the blush creeping over his cheeks, and he wished he could look away, anywhere else than that captivating stare, but he couldn’t.

“Ermal,” he started, his voice hardly above a whisper, but faltered.

“It’s okay, Fabrizio, I know I never had a chance and I have made it even worse now. It's all my own fault, you did absolutely nothing wrong. You can go now, you know, you don't have to stay. I appreciate what you did for me last night. I really do.  _ You _ are a true friend, and I definitely don’t deserve you." 

There was another heartbeat of silence before Fabrizio said, "What if I want to?" 

Ermal looked at him uncomprehendingly. 

“Want to what?" 

“Stay." 

"No no, you don't have to, I'm fine besides a headache, and I promise I won't do anything stupid. You shouldn't worry about me. Just go home, live your life." Ermal didn't add the "without me", but they both could hear it in the heavy silence anyway. 

"But Ermal, what if I  _ want _ to stay? What if I don't want to go home and live my life? What if I don't want to be without you?" 

“Fabrizio, don't," Ermal said weakly, but Fabrizio continued. Now it was his turn to be brave and honest. 

“Ermal, please listen to me. Those things you just now said about me… I feel the same. I like you. I like your opinions, I like your music, I like the way you play piano, I like your sarcastic jokes, I like your curls that only I am allowed to touch… I like you.” He paused to take a breath, but Ermal just started at him, didn’t interrupt.

“And if we forget the circumstances, I can tell you that there’s only one person who I’d hoped was behind those messages. And that person is you.”

The silence following this was interrupted by Ermal’s soft whisper, “But there are… circumstances.”

“Yes, there are,” Fabrizio sighed, and he knew it was time to really make his decision. He had to make up his mind, and do it quickly, it was cruel to make Ermal wait like this.

“Yes, there are,” he repeated, and continued, “But maybe they’re not so very important.”

Ermal looked at him, his look guarded, but Fabrizio could see some flicker of hope starting to shine in his eyes.

“Are you…”

“Ermal, what you did, or what you didn’t do, tell me, it… it sucks. And I can’t say it doesn’t hurt. But you did tell me in the end. You didn’t have to, I would have let it go, you could have gone on pretending you didn’t know anything about it. But you didn’t. And that counts for something. Besides, I can understand how you felt, why you didn’t want to tell me. After all, I never told you anything either.”

“Bizio…”

“And isn’t it so much more important that at least now we found out we feel the same? That we found each other and can be together? I mean - I do, but do  _ you  _ want…” Fabrizio faltered, suddenly insecurity gripping his heart, as he wondered what exactly to ask, weighing what might be too little, too much…

A soft smile played on Ermal’s lips and he got up, wincing as the movement made his headache a little worse. Fabrizio stared at him, coming closer, wondering what was happening. Ermal made a gesture to signal Fabrizio should slide his chair a bit back, and he did, not quite knowing why, but obliging him nonetheless.

Suddenly it became very clear what Ermal’s plan was, as he unceremoniously sat down on Fabrizio’s lap, the soft smile now changed into something a lot more pleased with himself. Fabrizio could only take in a sharp breath, they had been close before, yes, but not necessarily this close, and he tried to adjust to his lap full of Ermal, not even fighting the urge to wrap his arms around him.

“What I want… I told you I meant everything I said, I would not just change my mind in the last five minutes, Fabri. I thought I had ruined everything, and yet you’re still here. I will take everything, anything you might want to give me.”

“Ermal, everything, I’d give you everything. But…” Fabrizio closed his eyes, he needed to say something more, this couldn’t just end here like this, no matter how happy it would make him. He felt Ermal freeze, trying to scramble of his lap again, but Fabrizio held him tight. It was not as bad as all that.

“Erm, stop, stay, I just wanted to say, if we’re going to do this, together, and I want to, I really do, I have to ask you, please, you’ve got to talk to me, okay? No more secrets like this, I need to be able to trust you.”

Even before he had finished speaking, Ermal was nodding. 

“Yes, Fabri, I promise, I won’t do anything like this again, please.”

“That’s all I need to know Ermal. Relationships don’t work without communication,” Fabrizio answered when it seemed that Ermal expected more conditions. He had his eyes on Ermal’s, and his arms still wrapped around him, and he couldn’t help but notice the slight tremor that ran through him at that word. Before he could say anything, ask anything to lessen his worry, Ermal melted into Fabrizio, head hidden in the crook of his neck, and Fabrizio could just hear him whisper, “Relationship, oh Fabri...”

Smiling now, he knew it was alright, that  _ they  _ were alright, Fabrizio pulled Ermal closer, ever closer, tangling one hand in his hair. Realizing he was in the perfect position to do so, he couldn’t help but take advantage of it, and he kissed Ermal’s neck. 

“You’re mine now, my own secret admirer,” he whispered, and Ermal disentangled them a little, to look at his face.

“That I am, though not so secret anymore,” he answered with a smile, and then moved in for a kiss. A first kiss, a perfect kiss, a kiss he had dreamed of, but never thought he would actually get.

The road had been a bumpy one, but Ermal was living his dream. How could he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, @sociallyawkwardwriter for that lovely prompt!
> 
> I'd be very happy if you'd leave your thoughts in a comment <3


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